And then it came. Flowed, in fact, because he had thought this thought a million times.
“In 1968,” he inhaled. “If you told anyone that man was going to walk on the moon, they would have said, ‘Ha, that’s science fiction.’ A year later, in 1969, man did walk on the moon. And nine years after that in 1978, Louise Brown, the first IVF baby, was born in England.” A gesture. “Outer space, inner space. In such a blink of human history, a stunning new age of awareness and ability began for us.”
Applause. Right off the bat. Faces beamed, nodding to each other, and Gary colored, thinking, Now what?
“So here’s Jesse,” he said simply, ruffling the soft hair of the toddler who craned back up to him, then peered back to the room’s second, exuberant round of applause. His little face lit up.
Gary continued, awkward again, glancing at Simpson alone at the big empty table, realizing he had to explain the five glaring absences.
“There’s been, ah…some excitement-” Oh God, wrong word, jerk. His throat went dry. “You’ll soon hear about it…but because of it, ah…” His fist went to his mouth and he coughed nervously.
A waiter rushed to him with a glass of water. Greg thanked him; drank, put the glass down next to Jesse, continued. “Jill and David Levine and their three physician friends who first discovered Jesse-”
Clink! Clink! Jesse boinked Gary’s glass with his spoon, as he’d seen Simpson do.
“…won’t be here, can’t be here to greet you and tell you their stories-”
Clink! Clink! From somewhere in the audience.
Gary looked up. It was Simpson. He’d clinked his glass too, the same number of times, the same rhythm. He was grinning.
“So I’ll tell you their stories.” Gary frowned just a little, trying to concentrate as his voice got stronger. “Because I was there too, not at first because I was overwhelmed with my internship, but by his seventh month, every chance I got, interacting with our little pal here” – he patted Jesse’s head – “months before his birth.” Gary realized he spewing awkwardly. “But from earlier, from six months gestation, Doctors Raney, Levine, MacIntyre, Greenberg and Donovan saw those whole incredible three months before birth, and took photos which you’ll find in your folders. They came at every chance to the cylinder tiny Jesse floated in, to keep him company, goof around, dance, make him smile, play music that kinda got him dancing - which I did too when I joined the fun. Here’s what Jesse dancing looked like…”
Gary did a goofy imitation of premature Jesse happily flopping his arms and legs. “I think Jesse taught me a new dance,” he added.
The audience loved it. Laughter and more applause.
When it died down…Clink! Clink! From Jesse.
Clink! Clink! From Simpson, grinning like a kid.
“Ah, give it up, buddy.” Now grinning too, Gary gently took the spoon from Jesse and leaned in close to the microphone. “We mustn’t encourage Dr. Simpson.”
The place broke up. Laughter now including the waiters. One of them had the sudden impulse to bark, “Quack! Quack!” Probably had little kids of his own.
Jesse liked that. He leaned close to the mike as Gary had and piped, “Ack! Ack!”
The room hadn’t stopped laughing as a flash of photographers’ bulbs caught the shot. Hoots and wonder all around; people exchanging comments of amazement. Waiters trading surprised looks too: Hey, this gig’s a blast.
At the podium, Gary sighed into the mike. “Okay, I think it’s time for a nap. Mine.” In minutes he’d come to like what he was doing. He waited again for the room to subside.
Then said, “So before we leave, the point I want to make is this: Before Jesse, we’ve only been able to see the unborn through dark, murky sonograms. We’ve seen them moving, sucking their thumbs, and that’s it. We’ve never been able to see them as busy little people, conscious, aware, able to perceive or feel stress and pleasure as you and I would. Now we know differently. As I mentioned, in your folders you’ll find photos of Jesse reacting to all kinds of stimuli at six, seven, eight, and nine months gestation. Really cute pictures, except for one when Jill and David played the Stones too loud. That agitated him, but a Beethoven violin concerto calmed him right down.”
Gary hoisted Jesse, who’d been grabbing for the microphone. “Oh p.s.,” he said, leaning back to the mike. “Now he loves the Stones.”
Then he introduced Dr. Willard Simpson, M.D., Chief of Madison’s Genetic Counseling Committee, world renowned expert in embryonic epidemiology and high risk obstetrics...and left the podium with Jesse.
“Say ‘bye,” he said, rushing for a side exit.
Jesse looked at the room from over Gary’s shoulder, and gave a floppy wave.
And Simpson hefted his bulk to the podium. Smiled and thanked Gary, welcomed everyone, then inhaled, scanned his notes and turned serious.
“The way Jesse was born has become more than theoretically possible,” he began. “It’s been done, hasn’t it?”
Then he droned. “Searches and studies are still underway as to how, exactly, Clifford Arnett did it, but the best comparison to how Jesse was nourished as he grew in his cylinder is” – he paused – “renal dialysis. If you’ll please turn to page six of your folders” – pages flipped in the room – “you’ll find our renal dialysis data compared to the same exchange of oxygen and nutrients for waste products and carbon dioxide that happens through the umbilical cord of any developing fetus.”
The waiters were in motion, but suddenly sleepy.
Simpson droned…
43
And David groaned. “Ow, that hurts!”
“What a baby.” Tricia’s voice. He felt her gloved hands swabbing blood from his neck and chest. Haven’s blood.
“Need more Procaine?” Sam’s voice.
“Yeah, and a tall glass of Vicodin.”
“Vicodin for everybody.” Woody’s voice.
“Pass the bottle.” Beth Willis’s voice. Leaning over him, helping Tricia swab.
Jill, still sniffly, was gripping David’s hand and softly muttering. Was she on her phone?
He felt another stick of the Procaine syringe, and after a few seconds’ wait, the weird tug of the curved suture needle take another pass through his brow laceration. And another. Damned kitchen counter…
“Working?” Sam’s voice, Sam’s gloved hands.
“Yeah. You’d make a good ER doc.”
They’d done the neuro exam, and kept doing it: checking his knee jerk, pupillary responses, everything else. Couldn’t risk any subdural hematoma sneaking up.
David opened his eyes, squinted painfully in the light from the examining lamp. He was lying on his back on an exam table. Sam finished suturing and lay his needle on the sterile table littered with the empty Procaine syringe, used mosquito clamps, and a pile of bloody cotton swabs.
David took a shuddering breath. Saw Jill pocket her phone, her gloved hands shakily resume helping Beth and Tricia swab away Haven’s blood. The pile of bright swabs - his and Haven’s - was getting bigger. Tricia grimaced and dumped them into a lined waste paper basket. “Bye Haven, you sick bastard,” she muttered.
Tumult sounded from other cubicles through the curtains on both sides. Other people bleeding, maybe dying. David felt tears of gratitude sting, and brought his arm over his face. Then heard the front curtain swish and piping commotion look in.
“How’s it going?” “He’s okay?” Ortega and Chitkara, simultaneous and frantic.
“Pure luck,” Woody said emotionally. He stopped banging his reflex hammer on David’s knee. “Another second and he would have-”
“Pure luck,” Jill said.
David brought his arm back down and tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “I’m good, thanks guys.” He fell back against the small pillow.
Relieved, Ortega blurted that he and Ramu had been called, wanted to run down to look in, now had to run back up to six. The curtain swished closed and Ramu’s voice sounded joyfully, reassuring others
gathered outside.
“Love ya, David,” someone called, hoarse-voiced.
Ramu led a Brit “Hip, Hip, Hooray!” Then sounds from outside thinned out.
David grinned crookedly.
The others exhaled and snapped off their gloves. Woody helped Beth, bitching mightily, back into her chair. “Ride the damn buggy for us,” he placated, patting her shoulder. “Hospital rules even for heroes. One more day and you’ll be freeee!”
Sam and Jill got David into a sitting position at the end of the table, and helped him into a new scrub top. “That was Gary calling,” Jill said, pulling David’s hands together and squeezing them. Her bloodshot eyes met his. “He’s almost here with Jesse. Picked up Fawzie on the way. Said our little guy wowed ‘em.”
“What did he do? Tap dance?”
In her chair Beth grew solemn. “We’ll hear about it. Mainly, he saved your life.”
David looked at her, not understanding.
Beth filled him in, leaning forward intently. Nobody had noticed Haven. She had even looked Haven’s way and just seen…waiters. “Jesse saw him and insisted. Kept fussing, pointing, saying ‘Mommy, scawee’ before I finally took another look and freaked.”
Jill said slowly, “That’s when I called you. But Jesse started the alarm. My God, if you’d come out of the kitchen and Haven had seen you…” Her voice cracked. She could barely utter the words. The image of Mark Chapman coming after John Lennon flashed before her; she struggled with it.
David was silent for moments, incredulous. “Seconds away from Haven’s perfect scenario,” he said quietly. “Photographers there, good lighting…”
Tricia dropped to a circular stool. “But how did Jesse know?” Her face creased. “The waiters all looked tense, they were all snapping at each other. Why did Jesse keep pointing at Haven till Jill grabbed his hand down?”
The small cubicle grew quiet as they mulled that. Heads shook in wonder.
“Maybe he saw something…different about Haven?” Sam guessed.
“Or sensed something?” Beth put in. “That child takes in everything, senses every vibe…”
The curtain swished and in walked Gary, carrying Jesse gripping Fawzie.
“Mammy! Dayee!”
Oh, the joy. Into Jill’s and David’s outstretched arms he went, as Gary fell into a chair by the entrance. “You just missed three hours of droning,” he said. “Gee David, you should do this more often.”
“Ha. You’re a riot.”
Jesse, in David’s lap, craned up at him and his eyes grew round. David steadied him as he got to his red-socked little feet and inspected the bandage on his laceration.
“Oww,” he breathed, lightly poking the dressing.
“Yeah.” David smiled at him. “Daddy hurt himself, but it’s gonna be all better.”
Jill kissed the top of Jesse’s head, seeming mystified. “Curious. Has he ever seen a gauze dressing?”
David got to his feet, hoisting their child who clung to him. “Let’s go home,” he said.
They left amid hugs and tears from their friends. Backslaps and hugs too from several cops milling outside, including Kerri and Alex who’d been waiting. Kerri groaned about the laceration and David said, “I’m good, lucky. Hey, birthday party in two days. Can you two come?”
“Of course,” Alex beamed, subtly handing David back his gun. “At your place?”
“Oh yes,” Jill smiled, leaning into David, and then grinned joyously, her spirits leaping as she realized that it was so. There was nothing to make them afraid now. They were safe. They could go…
“Home! Home!” she called back as they left.
EPILOGUE: TWO DAYS LATER
Ricky brought his gray toy kitty. “His name’s Niner,” he announced to delighted Jesse. “Cats and strong people get to live nine lives.” The two immediately got down to playing with Niner, which freed the adults who were doing prep stuff and putting candles on the cake: vanilla-flavored with vanilla frosting and a ton of sugary toppings.
“Gorgeous,” Gary said as he carried paper plates and plastic spoons out from the narrow kitchen. “Too pretty to eat,” Ramu said, carrying a bright paper tablecloth.
“You kidding?” Tricia crowed, gazing deliriously at the cake’s sugary red balloons flying up to a sugary rainbow. “We could demolish this ourselves, right?”
“Oh yeah.” Jill peeked out and saw Charlie sprawled on the living room rug playing with the two children, loading Ricky’s kitty into a red truck and showing Jesse how to give Niner a ride.
“Having fun?” Jill grinned, teasing him.
“Affirmative!” Charlie hooted; and Sam, helping David and Woody hang balloons, said, “Two hours to re-discover his inner child before running back to the hospital.”
Groans greeted that crack.
Beth stuck her head into the kitchen. “Got the paper tablecloth on.” Alex Brand behind her said, “The drop cloth under Jesse’s place, too. Think it’s big enough? Those kids are going to be high on sugar.”
Jill looked at the cake’s bright rainbow and laughed. Oh dear God, it felt so good to laugh. They were all high on relief.
Beth was walking fine. Kerri and Alex looked happy and caught up at last on their sleep. The nightmare was over for the city, and for the police. The media still carried coverage, but it was old file footage, and people soon got bored with old. Life had resumed. The streets below were bustling again, and the nighttime restaurants and movie theaters were back to crowded. Soon something else major would fill the crisis void. Books would be written, and go on shelves crowded with other madman stories. Sic transit.
David came into the kitchen, cocking his head to the living room. “You gotta see this. Now Woody’s on the floor. They’ve got Fawzie and Niner in the truck and Woody’s pushing it around. Alex is on his knees – well, you gotta see.”
Jill and Tricia left the cake on the counter and followed David out. What a scene. The others had made “roads” by lining up ranks of toys. Gary now chugged a train behind the red truck – “trains don’t go down streets,” Ricky protested – while Woody pushed Niner and Fawzie. Beth and Kerri, kneeling and laughing, were the Ladies Waiting At A Crosswalk, and Alex on his knees waved his arms directing traffic.
Out came phones and jokes and pictures snapped. The doorbell rang, and Jill opened to Ray Connor and Ted Zienuc, holding presents, blinking at Alex on his knees directing traffic.
“Aw, now ain’t that adorable,” Zienuc teased, and the ribbing continued until David got everyone seated and Jill carried out the cake, its candles glowing.
“Wow, that’s beyootiful,” Connor beamed, then they all burst into song. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU...
It was a loud, joyous sound. A sound, really, of thanks and relief for people usually exhausted and stressed under the best of circumstances. Jill couldn’t hold back a rush of tears. Jesse was gaping in wonder at it all. David took more pictures.
“One year old,” he grinned, putting an arm around Jill, his eyes twinkling at her. She melted into his warmth.
“I love you,” she whispered. He squeezed her harder, and they both looked back to Jesse as he looked to them, happily threw up his little arms, and squealed a thrilled “Wheeee!”
Author’s Note
Hello, and thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the book. If you have the time to write a review, let me know and I will thank you from the bottom of my heart. Writing is so solitary! Your feedback would cheer me no end; also re-charge my batteries to keep going with the next book. Your review on Amazon or Goodreads would also help others decide if they would enjoy the book.
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~ Joyce
Read on for an excerpt from
EMBRYO 5: Silver Girl
by J.A. Schneider
Order it today!
http://jaschneiderauthor.net
1
A girl stumbling off the curb.
He almost didn’t see her, the young woman clinging to the back of a parked car, on a street of Upper East Side townhouses, on a night in early April.
Officer Ted Holt’s breath stopped as he slammed on the brakes. Wordlessly, he and his partner threw open their doors and ran to her, catching her by her thin arms and waist as she slid, head down, to the pavement. She seemed almost naked to them. A party-spangly, silver mini dress. Delicate shoulder straps, one torn and drooping. She was shaking, pulling away. “No…”
The second man radioed for assistance and ran for a blanket. Holt reached to adjust the girl’s dress and hunched down for a closer look.
In the sweep of their red-blue lights she raised her face to him, and he winced. Her expression, dazed, sad, and desperately human, looked out at him from eyes that were puffy and swollen. Blood trickled from a gash on her brow; her long blond hair was disheveled.
Rape, Holt guessed. It was a logical first guess for a policeman.
“Reid?” she whispered, pleading. “Reid? Please, no…” Then her face contorted. Frightened, unfocused emotions crossed her features and she began to cry.
Holt held her and stared. Reed? As in drug paraphernalia? The girl had no identification on her, and she was whimpering incoherently, making no sense.
“Who did this to you?” he asked gently. “What is your name?”
She closed her eyes, her body sagging against his, and he noticed that she was feverish with skin clammy and sweaty, which was odd - it didn’t connect with assault. Drugs on top of rape? He frowned, discounting that. Coming off heroin can produce sweats, but not a burning fever like this. And in air that was in the low forties? He peered at her face again, and in the twirling lights of the cruiser thought he saw something else.
CATCH ME (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller, Book 4) Page 19
